Page 107 of Hell’s Half Acre

Those words oddly saddened her. “You still want to go home.”

Luke’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. He took so long to speak that she thought he’d forgotten what she said. “Not as much as I used to.”

Not as much as I used to.

Those words lightened her mood. I am so broken. She should feel bad. He’d been wanting to go home as much as she wanted to purge Bert out of her mind and find her sister’s killer.

Now…

“What’s changed?”

Luke didn’t answer because the answer was a simple you. But how could he tell her that? It would give her as much, if not more, power over him than she had by knowing his real name.

Clenching his teeth, he cursed himself. The only thing worse than giving someone your name was giving them your heart.

And she held his. In both hands. As much as he wanted to deny it, he couldn’t.

There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her.

Nothing.

He’d burn the world to a crisp just to see her smile. If she wanted Bert’s head, he’d deliver it to her bronzed.

But again, she didn’t need to know that. It made him vulnerable. No one could ever know how much she meant to him.

He was even willing to give up his home.

Not like it was all that great, dipshit.

True, Hell was Hell. While it was a lot colder here, there was a lot to recommend the human world.

Laughter that wasn’t cruel. Sunshine.

Ice cream.

Most of all, friends who weren’t trying to harm him all the time. Yeah, there were some who were demonic little bastards with no understanding of loyalty or decency. Those who’d cut the throats of their own mother.

But there were those like Sorcha and Reyes, too.

Hell, even Rory. Friends who took care of each other. Family that didn’t try to destroy their blood.

As much as he loved his mother, he wasn’t sure if she’d be there for him. The fact that she’d allowed him to be tossed out…

Sorcha’s mom and dad would have been right there with her. They wouldn’t have stood for anyone to do that to their daughter. Not without a brutal fight.

It was why he respected them and why he hated they’d been hurt by the loss of her sister.

The good die young. Usually because they were trusting.

How sad was that?

Sorcha squeezed his hand. “You haven’t answered my question, Luke. What’s changed?”

“Guess I’m like the frog in a pot. Slowly getting boiled and I’m too stupid to realize it.”

“I doubt that would ever happen to you.”

“You’d be surprised. Obviously, my sister figured out how to cook my goose while I wasn’t paying attention.”